


a mother's punishment

by neverlasting_legend (splitdevotion)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splitdevotion/pseuds/neverlasting_legend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a jest.  A teasing little comment meant to lift the corners of a sullen little boy’s lips.  She had forgotten where she was.  Forgotten that this sullen little boy was also a Lost Boy.</p>
<p>And even to their mothers, boys are cruel – Lost Boys even crueler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a mother's punishment

She runs through the foliage, darting under low branches and flying over the uneven ground.  A spear wizzes by her head and Wendy runs faster until she’s breaking through the barrier of trees.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ she thinks as she peers over the cliff and into the ocean wear waves are breaking on jagged rocks.

She looks back and sees the Lost Boy she was cheering up step into view. 

Several other boys seemed to have also joined his little hunting expedition – their eyes amused and delighted at the ferocity in the youngest boy’s glower.  None of their weapons are out that she can see so she assumes that they’re just here to watch the show.

She holds her hands in surrender and makes her expression contrite and placating as she murmurs sweetly, “I was only joking.” 

It’s not the phrase the boy wants to hear but it’s the only one she’s willing to say because “sorry” is for weaklings.

He doesn’t accept she sees, so she changes tactics – changes from friend to mother by sharpening her expression into something sterner as she places her hands on her hips.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

She’s not his mother though and her little act doesn’t stop the spear from flying from his hand.

She dodges – lucky – but then she catches on the frayed end of her nightgown and she’s tumbling over the cliff edge with a sharp scream.

She’s falling with air whipping around her, and she can swear that she feels the cold spray of the ocean below her before she feels the Pan’s ( _predictable, predictable_ ) arms around her.

Her neck hurts despite the Pan catching her around the waist and the first thing she does once the Shadow puts her back onto ground is march up to the now weaponless boy and tug harshly on his ear.  “ _You could’ve killed me!_ ” she hisses like condemnation but it’s a show.  She’s angry at the boy, yes, but she doesn’t want him dead – _never wants anyone dead_ – and this the only way to save this boy whose only remorse over her death would’ve been having the face the consequences of _Him_. 

She won’t play the victim.  Can’t play the victim.  Being the victim brings death and it’s never hers that she has to worry about.

The other boys are no longer jeering as they were while that boy was chasing her down but they look upon the scene with the same malicious fascination. 

They don’t stand with the boy – not when he was throwing that spear and not when he’s the one being fired upon.  They may have encouraged the boy’s hunt but they were careful to leave enough distance between them that they wouldn’t be likely to be swept up in the path of Pan’s wrath.

Wendy schools her face, sliding the blinders of her eyes shut so they can’t see what she wants to do.  “Say you’re sorry _,_ ” she says after a moment and it’s tinged with just the right amount of anger and resentment to make it believable.

The boy’s eyes are defiant.  “I ain’t going to say sorry to no girl.”

Stupid, stupid boy.

Wendy pinches her fingers together until his ears are a bright angry red.  “ _Say_ ,” she repeats close, “ _you’re sorry_.”

His mouth shuts close but than his eyes widen and the color drains from his face and Wendy can feel Pan’s breath on her neck.

“I do think you’re going to have do more than just pull on the boy’s ear if you want him to apologize for making you fly, Bird.”  His tone is light and marked with thin amusement but it’s far too easy-going for Wendy to believe that he’s anything but angry.

Briefly, she hesitates to think of some act that will curb Pan’s retribution and remembers her brothers.  She takes a breath and makes sure the scowl on her face is as mean as she needs it to be in order to appease her audience before harshly yanking the boy’s left forearm to her.  Then, she’s grabbing it with both hands and she _twists_.  She squeezes harder than she’s ever dared to with her brothers until it starts to hurt _her_ hands to drag her flesh against his and doesn’t stop even when he pants, “ _sorry, sorry,_ ” until it looks like her hands are seared onto his skin.

Immediately, she wants to say sorry.  She’s never been this rough with someone that hadn’t been actively fighting back but knows she can’t.  Can’t show weakness when she and the boy are almost home free.

She kicks him instead for good measure.  Not really hard, but at the knee so he falls and she’s looking at him from above and her hands are in his hair – petting him in a mockery of a mother comforting her child.  “Next time,” Wendy starts quietly before steeling her voice, “next time, I won’t mark you with my hands.” She makes sure everyone, especially the boy behind her, is listening before promising, “Next time it will be with something _sharp_.”

She gives his hair a good hard yank before pushing his head away from her and watches as the young boy tumbles back like a queen giving pardons.

And behind her, Peter Pan smiles


End file.
